


Sidelined

by merry_amelie



Series: Academic Arcadia [235]
Category: Star Wars Episode I: The Phantom Menace
Genre: Alternate Reality, Angst, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-12
Updated: 2016-02-12
Packaged: 2018-05-19 21:25:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,136
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5981431
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/merry_amelie/pseuds/merry_amelie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Can a Darthmouth assistant coach hope to win a battle of words with Ian?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sidelined

**Author's Note:**

  * For [slytherinsdaughter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/slytherinsdaughter/gifts).



> Feedback: Is treasured at merryamelie@aol.com (or leave a comment).
> 
> Disclaimer: Mr. Lucas owns everything Star Wars. I'm not making any money.
> 
> For  
> My beta team: Emila-Wan and Carol  
> Mali Wane for posting to the Master Apprentice ML  
> Travis for posting to the Master Apprentice Archive on AO3  
> Alex for inspiring Arcadia 
> 
> References:  
> [A Little Bit o' Heaven](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1843594)  
> [At the Prancing Pony - Greg and Tim Hildebrandt](http://www.theonering.com/galleries/professional-artists/the-fellowship-of-the-ring/at-the-prancing-pony-greg-and-tim-hildebrandt)
> 
> Arcadias in the gym:  
> [Avocation](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1793590)  
> [Exercise in Exhilaration](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1819441)  
> [Empirical Results](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1843621)  
> [A Touch of Sadness](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1908054)  
> [Innocence Lost](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1908057)

7 degrees Fahrenheit.

It was almost as cold outside as Ian felt inside, but at least he was finally home.

He jogged up the path to the front door on a frozen Thursday night, shivering despite his winter gear. He'd just gotten back from a Skyhawks away meet at Darthmouth College in New Hampshire. The two Ivy League schools faced one another every year in gymnastics competition and were fierce rivals. This time Luke had won the all-around competition, but you wouldn't be able to tell that from Ian's grim face.

Since they'd commuted by team bus, the trip had taken three hours each way. Add that to five hours in the gym for practice and the meet itself, and it was a long day. If Coach Rance hadn't taken the trouble to drop him off in Alder Run, it would have been an even longer one. But it was not this alone which was getting Ian down.

Something had happened at the meet that he should have been prepared for, especially from the Maulers. But no matter how many years went by and how inured he thought he was to cruelty, prejudice was still like a lightsaber to the chest for him.

And now, instead of his husband welcoming him back with a hug, Quinn didn't even know he was home. Ian could hear the vacuum cleaner rumbling in their bedroom, in counterpoint to the dishwasher chugging in the kitchen. A grin struggled to replace his frown as he realized that Quinn was trying to make his life easier by doing both of their sets of chores that night.

The only light in the living room came from a small fire Quinn had laid on the hearth. Ian could feel a bit of warmth as he came in but was still glad he had his parka on. The flames flickered over their signed Hildebrandt print of "At the Prancing Pony," illustrating a cozy scene from "The Fellowship of the Ring." This effectively added an atmospheric fireplace to the hobbits' room at the inn, the only thing missing from the enchanting artwork.

Ian turned on the light switch by the door and threw his gym duffel bag down on the pie-crust table just inside. The vacuum cleaner clicked off, just as he kicked away his sneakers and left them under the table. As he looked up, Quinn was walking towards him along the hallway, a big smile on his face, while Artoo and Sandy scampered into the room, still warm from their baskets.

After taking off his hat and throwing it in the general direction of his duffel bag, Ian practically dove into his husband's arms, basking in the haven of Quinn's embrace. The puppies nuzzled into the calves of their dads' cotton-soft Luke sweatpants for a couple of moments, then trotted to the kitchen, ready to go back to sleep.

Ian put on his best grin for Quinn, but he couldn't fool his husband.

"Tough meet, laddie?" crooned Quinn, as he helped him off with his parka. A long arm reached out to hang it on the hook by the door, then engulfed him in a hug again.

Ian nodded into Quinn's Aran pullover. "What can you expect from the Maulers?" he said, wry humor almost covering his gloominess.

"Have you eaten dinner yet?" asked Quinn.

Another nod from Ian. "Yeah, we had sandwiches and Evian on the bus."

Quinn could sense Ian's visceral need for his soothing touch and led him straight to the couch, where Ian lay down with his head on Quinn's lap. For a couple of tender moments, Quinn just played with Ian's copper hair, running his fingers through the strands in a soothing glide.

He was in full Jedi-whisperer mode.

And of course Ian responded to it, just like Obi-Wan would to Qui-Gon's ministrations. The tension and anger in him melted away like any Dark Side emotions would, when confronted with the Light Side of the Force.

Quinn had a natural ability to heal the psychic wounds of his husband, and he put this skill to good use that night. By the time he was a few minutes into his massage, Ian had turned into a puddle of relaxed Padawan on his lap.

"Thank you," said Ian simply, and took Quinn's hand into his own. He returned the favor by rubbing his herven's palm the right way.

Good energy vibrated between them.

The Maulers had no power here, in the professors' little bit o' heaven.

Ian started to talk, his heart free from much of the sadness that had plagued him for the past several hours. "You probably figured out that something rather...unpleasant...happened at the meet," he said wryly. An involuntary flare of tension made his shoulders suddenly taut.

"Yes, I'd made that assumption," Quinn said, matching his tone, and running his fingers over the tense muscles.

"Well, Kyle 'Low Blow' Brenner, an assistant coach for the Maulers, decided he didn't like the fact that our Skyhawks were in the lead, so he took it out on me." Ian tightened his fingers around Quinn's hand. "Probably just sour grapes."

Quinn let out a prolonged sigh. "Let me guess -- he talked Sith to you."

Ian snorted. "Good way to put it." He snuggled deeper into Quinn's lap. "Brenner sneered and told me that I was barely good enough to be coaching the girls' team." Ian had always been one of those who believed that the roots of homophobia lay in misogyny, and this incident just reinforced his opinion.

"Oh, ho, he couldn't even come up with an original put-down, then." Quinn chuckled and was delighted to hear Ian join him. "I'd give him a measly 1.5 out of 10."

Quinn's humor turned out to be the perfect way to handle the situation. He could see and feel Ian perking up as he smiled down at his lad.

"1.5? That sounds like an inflated score to me," Ian said jauntily. "I'd definitely deduct some style points."

Quinn ran a gentle hand over Ian's cheekbone as his smile grew broader. "You're right, me boyo. And I'm sure you knew just how to handle him."

Ian couldn't resist a smirk at his herven's comment. Yes, he'd handled the situation well, if he said so himself. "My first reaction was to say that our Luke Skyhawks women's team could have beaten the Maulers men's team handily."

Quinn snickered at this. "Love it!" He caressed the cleft in Ian's chin with his thumb. "But what did you actually end up saying?" His winter-blue eyes gazed at Ian curiously.

"I said that I would proudly put coaching our women's team on my vita any day of the week," Ian answered, and Quinn could hear the utter sincerity in his voice and imagined that the Darthmouth assistant coach had heard it, as well.

Quinn cheered, and Ian joined him with a whoop of his own.

"Now that's thinking on your feet, m'lad," said Quinn in absolute approval. His husband was ever the diplomat, even under challenging conditions. "How did he take it?"

It was Ian's turn to snicker. "Brenner couldn't even think of a good come-back, so he just slunk away down the sideline."

And Ian didn't even know the best part. The Skyhawks' head coach, Otto Rance, had witnessed the entire exchange, with neither assistant coach being the wiser. Rance had already dealt with the situation, passing a discreet word to the Maulers' head coach about his subordinate's comment. Any type of bigotry was not tolerated in NCAA Gymnastics, and there was little doubt the assistant coach had been shut down from all sides.

"Heh! You certainly won the bragging rights in that battle," Quinn said with satisfaction. He knew Ian was likely to come out the victor in a war of words.

Ian's grin was back to its carefree best. "You've got an uncanny way of making me feel better, no matter what."

"i'm delighted to hear it, because you do the same for me." Quinn's crinkles came out to play for the first time that night.

The dishwasher buzzer sounded the end of the drying cycle, and both of them started to laugh at its precise punctuation, since it put a period on the end of their discussion, or maybe even an exclamation point.

"Are you too tired for a bit of fun, laddie?" asked Quinn, gazing at Ian with banked fire in his eyes.

Ian saw both the fire and that it was thoroughly under control. "No, I think that's just what I need."

Quinn allowed the slow heat to build as he looked into lightsaber-blue eyes; he knew just what to do to finish the day on a positive note. His hands, hitherto soothing, began a more sensual dance over Ian's face.

Ian felt the difference instantly; all of a sudden, each touch was charged, not only with love but desire, as well. He pulled Quinn down for a sweet kiss with a hint of spice. "Mmmmm. Best thing I've had to drink all day."

"I've got something even better for you," said Quinn, brushing his husband's lips with a forefinger.

"I'll just bet you do," Ian said with a lazy chuckle. He lay back on Quinn's lap with a "Show me; I double dare you" charmer of a grin on his face.

Quinn always rose to every challenge, and this was no exception. He grinned back at Ian, allowing the trace of a predatory vibe to color his cool blue gaze.

Since Ian had showered after the meet, there was no hint of sweat upon him...until now. Quinn felt a sheen of perspiration under his fingertips as he caressed his lad's face and neck. He dipped a teasing finger under the collar of Ian's Luke polo shirt, then used the same finger to trail down his arm, little hairs standing in his wake.

Ian shivered, this time at Quinn's warm touch, not at the bitter cold outside.

Meanwhile, Quinn's right hand eased its way beneath the hem of Ian's shirt. He massaged his husband's chest and stomach, his hand guided by Ian's reactions. A brush of nipples still a little winter-chilled brought warmth to them; a graze on the sensitive spot underneath his ribs earned a happy sigh and a wriggle; a big palm rubbing over his abdomen made Ian all but purr; the pad of a thumb running around the waistband of Ian's sweatpants sizzled along Ian's neurons.

Ian didn't beg Quinn with words, but his eyes did it for him. Quinn's thumb started to push under the tied laces of the pants now.

Ian's gasp sounded loud in the quiet living room. The fire had burned out by this time, so there was not even a crackle for that gasp to compete against. Quinn gave a crooked smile at Ian's reaction. Just what he had hoped would happen. Quinn's fingertips ventured further beneath the waistband, and Ian's wiggling increased with every inch of intimate ground gained by his herven.

When that huge hand reached the coarse hairs at Ian's groin, Ian almost levitated off of Quinn's lap. His earlier gasp seemed like a whisper, compared to the sounds Ian was making now. Half prayer, half plea, Quinn had trouble making out the words, except for his own name. He heard that very clearly. Over and over.

Locking eyes with Ian, Quinn finally reached further down to his straining erection, which was currently as hard as Quinn had ever felt it. It all but leapt into Quinn's palm, begging to be stroked, just like Ian himself. He took Ian's plump cock fully in hand and began to stroke with the rhythm his lad liked the best.

Ian thrust into the circle of Quinn's fingers with abandon, loving every minute of bucking wild and free. He needed a kiss from Quinn *now* and struggled to reach his lips.

Quinn bent his head down and brought their mouths together, just as he brushed his thumb over the glans. He knew Ian could feel his smile against his lips, when his husband came in his arms.

It was a bit messy, but neither of them cared. Quinn grabbed a few tissues from the side table and cleaned up Ian's clothing and his own hand, plus a couple of droplets of cream, which somehow had flown onto Quinn's pullover.

Ian drowsed into Quinn, until he was ready to move again.

But Quinn caught Ian's hand as he tried to reciprocate. "We'll have plenty of time for me tomorrow, little laddie," he said. "It's time to get some sleep." He kissed Ian softly on the forehead and settled him comfortably in his lap. Leaning back into the couch cushions, he drifted off to sleep, to the familiar sound of Ian's snores.


End file.
